


Awesome Mix Vol. 2

by Yavannie



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Future Fic, Homesickness, Humor, Romance, Spoilers for Guardians of the Galaxy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavannie/pseuds/Yavannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unwrapping that tape set something in motion, and we're not just talking hips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Want Them Back

**Author's Note:**

> Mix tapes with 70's and 80's music speak to me on a very personal level. The first thing I did after seeing GotG was to compile the rest of Awesome Mix Vol. 2 in my head. Inevitably, this happened.

When did I first start thinking about it? Hell, I'm _always_ thinking about it, but what I mean is, when did I first consider it for real? I like to think it was when I put the tape in, but that was six Terramonths ago and yet here I am, still sitting on my ass in the wrong bar, on the wrong planet, in the wrong quadrant of the wrong goddamn galaxy. At least the drink isn’t too shabby.

"Yondu took me to Navaar once, when I was still a kid,” I say, apropos of nothing. “You ever been there?”

“I had little reason to travel while my family was still alive,” says Drax and takes another swig of Greenout.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, anyways. I might have been twelve or so. It wasn’t too long after… Well, _anyways_. I was young, and apparently impressionable because they way I remembered it for years after, it was paradise, man.”

Drax turns to me, intrigued. “Paradise? A Gunan told me of this. Does the sun truly never set there?”

“What? No. Right, I’m sorry. It was _like_ paradise.”

“So it was _as if_ the sun–,” Drax begins. His earnest interest is as endearing as it is frustrating.

“Forget paradise,” I interrupt. “So, Navaar. The capital was immense. Bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. Skyscrapers so tall they were in the clouds, and avenues so wide you could have landed four Milanos there - on one side of the road.”

“It sounds indeed to be a city of size.”

I drag a finger down the side of the damp glass in front of me. Tiny droplets of condensation merge at my touch, and a trickle of water works its way down to the coaster. Absentmindedly I reach out for my straw, but my hand fumbles in thin air, because this is in fact _not_ a Strawnana side-by-side from Steak ’n Shake.

Fuck, I’m drunk.

“So I went back. Years later, on my own, and it wasn’t the same.”

“It is not uncommon for a civilized society to change rapidly in times of economical growth and favorable conditions.”

This time I’m biting my tongue - my _figurative_ tongue, okay? “It wasn’t the way I remembered it at all,” I say. “I went to get a Fharfa burger because in my mind, it was still the most delicious piece of blue meat between two buns I’d ever had, but this time, I was tall enough to see the grease on the grill. Lost my appetite and had to throw the damned thing in the trash. That main avenue was still wide, but only because some ass backwards architect thought ‘hey, the more lanes the merrier’, but never once spared a thought for the kind of traffic chaos it causes when you have five right-turning vehicles merging into a narrow-as-shit one-way alley. And the skyscrapers weren’t in the clouds. They were in the _smog_.”

When I turn to Drax, he’s staring intently at me. He keeps it up until I start squirming in my seat. “What?”

“Star-Lord. Do you mean to say that your species pass your bowels through an orifice at the front?” 

 

* * *

Groot has turned into quite the strapping young sapling. He spends more and more time out of the dirt bed each day, but right now he’s here in the arboroom, digging his roots into the soil, getting a healthy dose of whatever weird mixture Rocket puts in the watering can. From the way he’s swaying gently side to side, occasionally sending out lightspores and gawking at them, I’m starting to suspect drugs.

It’s a nice place to relax, though, and he’s a good listener.

“I think you’d like it. Lots of forests. Lots of different plants. Flowers, trees… There’s pine, and maple, like in Canada, and… Christmas trees and Joshua trees and… pine.”

“I am Groot.”

It’s frustrating how little I remember. Fucking tree names. Not that it’s important, not at all, but I know the names of _ten times_ the number of Centaurian trees.

“You like rain? Of course you do, you’re a plant and rain is water. Rain on Earth can smell so good you wouldn’t believe it. Musty leaves in the fall. Steaming asphalt after a thundershower. _Man_.”

How can I remember the smell of wet sidewalks when I don’t even know the name of those purple flowers mom liked so much? Sometimes I think I must be making shit up, because a lot of these so-called memories are just too weird. The smell of match smoke after watching it burn right down to your fingertips and then shaking it wildly to put it out (mmm, so good). Grandpa’s garage (deliciously out of bounds). An eraser in the shape of a rainbow (synthetic and girly and I used to sniff that shit for _hours._ Just as well, I guess, because it couldn’t erase pencil any better than say for instance a dog turd).

“We went to the sea once, and in the car mom was going on and on about how we’d be able to smell it soon. When the wind is right, she said, you can smell it from miles away.”

And I remember how she cranked the window right down, making her headscarf flap wildly, and I was shouting and beating at it even though it wasn’t even that close to my face. And she yelled back to me, ‘Can you smell it, Peter?’.

“But I can’t remember what it smelled like.”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, me too, buddy.”

 

* * *

“So, I hear you’re thinking of going back home.”

We’re all sitting down together for a meal for once when Rockets drops the bomb. Half a second later, all eyes are on me. I flush cold all over. _How the hell…?_ Wait, I can still save this. Looking right at Rocket, I lean slightly to the left, raise an asscheek and fart. The sound ripples through the room. Oh yeah. It’s a good one.

“Aw, Star-Lord, no,” says Rocket, pushing his chair away from mine.

Gamora spits what’s presumably curses in some unknown language and gets up to stand at the door, as far away from me as possible without actually leaving the galley.

“Such a display is hardly fitting at the evening meal,” says Drax.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, putting my hands up. “I must have missed the part when this became a timeshare. You see, I was under the impression that this was _my ship_. Because I wouldn’t _dream_ of doing something like that outside my own _home_.”

“Nice try, asshole,” says Rocket. “You know what I mean. Tellus. Terra. _Earth_. Whatever you want to call it. Rumor has it you miss it.”

“What rumor?”

He shrugs and grabs another piece of grilled hargot from the tray on the table. “Groot told me.”

I turn to stare at the sapling. At least he has the decency to look guilty. I guess this disproves my theory that the goddamned raccoon only pretends to understand the plant to further his own questionable ends. “That was private. I was speaking, you know, in _confidence_.”

Rocket snorts a laugh, and now I’m dreading to think what other late night ramblings he’s heard through the Grootvine. 

“Is it true?” asks Gamora. She’s still at the door, arms crossed and brow creased.

_Is it?_ Abruptly, I stand. I want off this ship. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter how, but right now, I want off it. I knew it was a mistake to try and make friends. “How can I miss something I can’t even remember,” I mutter, then leave them to gossip on their own.

 

* * *

I’m in the process of turning the tape over and starting it for the third time when Gamora knocks on the wall outside my bunk.

“Quill?”

Part of me wants to pretend I’m asleep, but out of the three vocal ones, she’s the only one I can actually talk to for more than five minutes without wanting to rip my hair out. That, and her ass is banging. 

“What?”

She pulls aside the curtain a little and peeks in. “Can I come in?”

I sit up to make some space, and she settles in beside me, legs crossed. Those legs are dangerous. It’s a shame the only time my head’s been between them was when she nearly snapped my neck in a thigh grip. Ah, who am I kidding? If I ever got half a chance with her I wouldn’t even know where to start.

“So, what was that all about?” she asks. “Earlier, I mean.”

“Nothing. I was just thinking out loud and that fur ball decided to make a big deal of it.”

“What is it that you miss?”

Oh, boy. Here we go. “I never said I _missed_ anything. I was trying to remember stuff, but it’s hard…” Woah, slow down there, Star-Lord. Start again. “I mean, it’s twenty-six years ago. It’s not exactly surprising. I haven’t even thought that much about it, and besides, I had the tape.” 

“Your tape,” she says, picking the Walkman up and turning it over in her hands.

She’s okay, I tell myself. It’s okay, nothing is going to happen to it. But when she puts it down again, I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I’d been holding.

“My new tape.” I press play, and Michael Jackson’s voice seeps tin-like through the foam earpads. We’ve both heard it hundreds of times before, and we both still nod along to it. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“And that’s the thing,” I say. I can hear the excitement in my own voice and I don’t even care. “I was so convinced that the tape - the first tape - was the pinnacle of everything that ever existed on Earth. It was just so perfect, you know? I was convinced nothing could ever sound this good, and then… This!”

It was the tape that started it, I’m sure of it now. I thought the tape was going to be another Navaar, but it wasn’t. It was _perfect_ and just how I’d imagined it. And now I can’t help but wonder if rain-soaked asphalt really does smell that good. 

“I think I understand,” says Gamora. “You want to know if there are other tapes.”

That makes me smile. She’s not wrong, but… “I know there are. I guess… More than anything I wish I could remember all the things I’ve forgotten.”

_I want them back. Remember what happened then. I want them back. And let me…_

She puts her hand on my knee. “You can’t,” she says simply. “Once a memory is gone, it’s gone. But we can make new ones.”

 


	2. 1999

The market is immense and sprawling. Drax has gone to look for a special type of sharpening stone that he has a hope of finding here, and Rocket and Groot are staying close by the ship, in the more well-managed part of the Canals. Gamora seems content to stroll by my side, sipping on some hot drink that smells of rich spices and something akin to cocoa.

“If you wanted to look for something special, we can always meet at the ship,” I say, and then immediately regret it.

“I know,” she says. “But then who’s going to watch your ass?”

_Oh you_ … I want to tell her I need time alone, but then I don’t actually _want_ time alone. And her? I’m not buying the asswatching thing, but I file away the wording for later. For a brief second I feel flattered that she enjoys my company, and then I realize she’s probably just following me to see where I go, what I buy, who I talk to. “Suit yourself,” I mutter.

Gamora buys us some kind of flaming hot protein on sticks that has me in a sweat within seconds. She seems unfazed, so I grin and bear it. The best thing about Gamora is that people know who she is. _What_ she is. She wears her profession on her hips, and even the most desperate pickpockets are wise enough to stay well away. The Canals are crowded and crawling with them, but around us, space somehow appears.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for until I see it. _The Intergalactic Exchange_. It’s the longest shot in a very long history of long shots, but I take my aim all the same. 

“I’m just going to check something,” I say. “It might take a while, you don’t have to come.”

“Okay,” she says, and follows me inside.

The queue is long. A bribe makes it shorter. Gamora makes it nonexistent. The clerk on the other side of the laserproof glass stares at me.

“Terran currency? Not once in my time here have I had anyone ask for it.” He clatters away on a grimy keyboard, his scaly fingers making clickety-click noises. “Uhh… I’ve got… Three hundred and fifty-two Nipponian Yen, eleven hundred Deutschmark, five hundred and five United States Dollars and, er, assorted coins.”

I take all of it. The coins come in a small but heavy bag, and even without looking, I know that ‘assorted’ translates not only to ‘various’ but also ‘fake’, ‘worthless’, ‘non-Terran’ and ‘this is clearly not a coin but a fucking rock’, but I simply smile and pay up.

“You got ripped off,” Gamora says as we begin our semi-aimless walk back towards the ship.

“A bit,” I say. “Couldn’t be bothered haggling.” If I’m honest (which I’m not going to be out loud), I haven’t got a clue how far it’ll get me. I know five hundred bucks is a _lot_ of cash though, and simply holding that thick wad of green notes makes me feel all funny inside. 

“I guess this means you’re really going to try.”

“I guess so.” That _you’re_ stung more than it should have.

“And if you get there?”

“If?” Hell, Gamora, you know how to wound a man with a one-syllable word.

“No offense, but wherever you go, shit kind of amasses.”

“I take it you base these observations on the past few months, in which case I could argue that _you_ are the shit magnet.”

“Mm…” She shoots me a glance. “I seem to have attracted you, at least.”

For once, I’m speechless. I don’t know whether she’s subtly flirting, simply calling me a piece of shit, or both. Then she bumps her shoulder into my arm, roughly, and I’m even more unsure. For a couple of seconds, our eyes meet, and I’m suddenly feeling hotter than I was eating those barbecued lumps of solidified fire earlier.  

“So,” she says, breaking the spell. “If you manage to get back to Earth in one piece, what then?”

I shrug. “Get drunk, have a good time, go out dancing and hook up with someone not–,” I pause before I land myself in a situation where I’m picking my teeth out of the sole of Gamora’s left boot.

She stops in the middle of road and arches an eyebrow. “Someone not what? Green?”

“ _No_ ,” I say empathically. Then, because I’m the biggest moron to ever moron, I grin and say, “Why, did you want to hook up?” I only just dodge the swing she takes at me. “You know, I haven’t actually been with someone like– Woah!” The kick is a very narrow miss.

“Someone like me?” she asks, shrinking back and unfurling her fist. “Of course you haven’t.”

No. Of course I haven’t, because Gamora is _alone_. “I’ll stop talking now,” I say, and then immediately proceed to not do that which I just said I would do. “You know, sometimes my brain can’t really keep up with my mouth and stuff just…” I mimic vomiting and then trail off because I realize I’m not doing myself any favors whatsoever. 

For the next half hour or so, we walk in silence, and I’m amazed that she sticks around. Gradually, the air begins smelling less of food, filth and recreational toxins, and more of, well, air. Just as we round a corner and spot the ship, she sighs.

“Well, do you have anyone?”

“What?” I ask, thinking frantically, trying to figure out what she means. “A woman? Uh. No, I’m available. Single, I mean.”

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, no, I think I would have noticed. I mean, do you have anyone you can contact? On Earth?”

“Oh. _Oh_. Well, there’s uncle Walt. And my friend Jimmy. I still know his number and everything.”

“Number?”  I explain the concept of phones briefly, and she frowns.  “Wires?”

“It’s an Earth thing,” I say vaguely. I don't like thinking about how behind my old home is in terms of technological advances. “Anyway, I guess he moved out from his parents’ house by now. He’ll have his own phone now.” 

“His own _mobile_ phone.” It’s Rocket, lounging in the open cargo hold door, a book in his paws.

“What are you talking about,” I snort.

“Times have changed back on Tellus,” he says and throws me the book. “Read it and weep.”

“ _Tellus - A Study in the Self-Destruction of a Civilization_ by Sen-Har of Kree,” reads Gamora, then looks back at Rocket. “Where did you get this?”

“There’s a book shop around the corner. I had a poke around.”

I barely listen as I rifle through the pages, trying to find a date of some kind. There’s one in the introduction. Written in the Earth year of 1999. _The future_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Prince - 1999

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Jackson 5 - I Want You Back.


End file.
